


Hydrangea

by Bleed_Peroxide



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Maternal Instinct, Mother-Son Relationship, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 14:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18573628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleed_Peroxide/pseuds/Bleed_Peroxide
Summary: “I’d be dead long before now if it took me that long.”As if it meant nothing. Yet Ash's voice said something different - it was a blandness Jessica often heard in her own voice, when Max tried to understand the dichotomy of feeling like a walking corpse. Ash’s tone was one of avoidance; it was the man averting his gaze as he walked past a graveyard, pretending not to know precisely where their loved one’s coffin lay. A glance would be all it took to undo years’ worth of erecting walls around a tragedy.





	Hydrangea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GracefulNanami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracefulNanami/gifts).



> Becca is my Reddit Refugee, and I adore her dearly. So when she requested me to write another prompt, I was super happy for a chance to go a bit more into the dynamic between Jessica and Ash. The prompt was: "I've been interested in the dynamic between Ash and Jessica, and I'm not sure too many others pay it a second thought. I think about it a lot because Jessica is the only other person Ash comes to trust that has the ability to begin to understand what he has gone through sexually." I think BF dropped the ball on this a bit, so I was happy to have the chance to explore that further. 
> 
> Hopefully, this satisfies! :)

There was a darkness coiled tightly within Ash that scared her.          

Jessica could see it in the way that he carried tension in his spine, a sharpness in his eyes that could pierce through flesh. Fresh-faced as he was, those remarkable eyes looked at least a decade older than they had any right to - as though he’d endured two lifetimes too many.  

She’d seen the way Ash’s eyes stared ahead, seeing nothing but whatever trauma had branded itself into his memory.  

Max’s eyes had borne the same look countless times when he’d returned from war. The sound of firecrackers brought back memories of the desert, of terrified screams. A piñata at Michael’s birthday party, spilling its contents, was far too similar to the way a body’s viscera could gush forth from an errant step on a landmine. Max had excused himself with a smile and apology, children none the wiser, before stumbling into the bedroom and screaming himself hoarse into a throw pillow. 

Blissfully ignorant at the time, Jessica hadn’t understood how innocent details could trigger horrific memories.  

She hadn’t understood why Ash held such disdain for adults, yet still bantered with Max like a normal teenager. There was a level of trust in his body language that wasn’t present in the way he regarded Ibe, or even the Japanese boy. There was obvious fondness, an ease with physical touch that made it clear he felt something towards Eiji. With Max, it was closer to the trust a prince felt towards a sworn knight.  

Was it because he was Griffin’s little brother? She’d believed that was all it was… at first. But the concern etched in Max’s features as he monitored Ash’s every move suggested it went far deeper - it was the wariness of a father that’d seen their child hurt once before. 

Hurt from what? From  _who_ ? Who would want to hurt him? He was a beautiful young man, the type that people tripped over themselves to fawn over. She had only been half-joking when she’d offered him and his friend a modeling gig with her magazine. Looks like his often drew comparisons to dolls or divinity… yet she hadn’t missed the way his eyes widened slightly at the suggestion. It hadn’t been with surprise, like Eiji, but rather terror.   

She didn’t know why Ash stared at the baseball glove in Michael’s hand with a tremor in his hands, as if expecting it to lash out like a viper. She didn’t understand why his pulse fluttered erratically in his throat.   

The same word, the same thought, over and over. Stubbornly, it continued to pull itself from the bottom of her subconscious as it refused to be denied.  

_Why?_  

Her mind warred against exploring the tragedy beneath the surface that awaited her. God only knew what had put the haunted look in Ash’s eyes. Deep in her bones, she knew the answer written plainly across his face…. yet the idea of being correct was too horrific to contemplate. 

* * *

Jessica began to pay more attention to the details. She listened carefully to the fragments of information that Max entrusted to her. Learning quickly that he was vague by design - lest anyone was listening to their phone lines - she began to see the crucial details tucked discretely into benign updates on how things were in the city.  

Knowing Max as well as she did, his ciphers were easy to interpret.  

Christopher Winston was a well-bred (though slightly affected) banker’s son that ate like a rabbit. He was quite shy, with a habit of laughing into his hands when the waiter remarked on his fluent French or his easy charm. He waved off his father’s gentle suggestions to eat a bit more - “to put some meat on his bones”.  

_Ash is far more intelligent than he looks or acts. That Dino bastard clearly taught him how to behave in high society… and, apparently, how to diet. How many teen boys worry about their weight, Jess? Is that normal thing these days?_   

Christopher made a show of rolling his eyes when his father looped an arm around his shoulders. He basked in the glow of his father’s pride, but propriety mandated that he not be obvious about it.  

_He tries so hard to act embarrassed when I give him a hug - as if he’s not allowed the barest human contact. You can almost hear him arguing with himself. He’d push me away if he wanted to - it’s that he’s afraid to reciprocate. Even with Eiji, he won’t allow himself to relax._  

Finally, it seemed, Christopher had taken some of his father’s proud statements to heart - not as the rose-colored views of a parent, but as an honest evaluation of his talents.  

_It was the smallest thing, Jess - Ash didn’t just stand there all stiff, but actually put his arms around me and hugged back. Nearly sobbed on the spot._  

It was clear that Ash was fond of the father and son routine, calling Max “Dad” with a playful lilt to his voice - “he’s clearly not used to saying it”, Max had noted, equal parts adoring and pitying. 

_Sometimes I forget Ash isn’t my kid, as much as I wish he were. He’s just like a Tootsie Pop - he’s got this hard exterior, but he’s actually soft and sweet beneath it all._  

He’d sent her texts from Ash, silently asking her thoughts. Sharp-tongued as Ash was, he was also remarkably _vulnerable_ , reminding Jessica of the way Michael would silently gaze up at her and await her approval.

 

She remembered the way he would smirk at her as he called her “grandma”, “old lady”. It angered her at the time, though she hadn’t missed the way Michael failed to hide his laughter behind his hands. Ash’s brattiness wasn’t so much ignorance of decorum as it was deliberate indulgence - as though playing a role, relishing a chance to quote a script he’d long practiced in his head. 

As she thought on it, another question blossomed in the back of her mind. 

_Where the hell are his real parents?_  

During one of their rare phone calls on a secured line, she finally dared to ask Max if Ash was an orphan - she couldn’t think of any other reason for how he had managed to slip through the cracks like he had. Jessica would have torn apart heaven and earth if her son went missing; from bears to lionesses, there was a reason that mothers with offspring were considered dangerous. Not even Lucifer could have endured her rage if Michael returned to her with the same haunted look in his eyes as Ash. 

She could hear his quiet anger in his silence, could almost see the way Max’s mouth set into a line as he reined himself in before responding. 

“He might as well be. You want to know what his father called him when we got to Cape Cod?”  

“What?”  

“A whore. His oldest goes to war and comes back drugged out of his mind. His youngest goes missing for  _years_ . But the only thing he could think to ask was if Ibe and I were fucking his son and paying him for it.”  

Jessica’s jaw dropped. A small, desperate part of her waited patiently for Max to continue; when he didn’t, she realized that there _was_ no punchline. There was no addendum to soften the blow. 

“Please tell me you’re joking.” 

His silence spoke volumes, daring her to find any jest in his statement.  

“Why… what kind of monster calls their child that kind of name?”  

“Because of his baseball coach. The sick fuck did…  _evil_ things to the poor kid. For Christ's sake, he was only _eight_ , Jess. Imagine if M-Michael was-”  

His voice cracked, as though his own heart was buckling beneath the weight of such atrocities. It was a fault-line fracture in the stony facade. Jessica felt as though the temperature in the room had dropped several degrees as she cursed her gut-feelings for being correct.  

“Max, I don’t even want to  _think_ -” 

“-and the best advice I can give is, ‘Oh, well, make sure he pays you next time’. Your child comes to you for help, to _save_ them - and you tell the poor thing that he shouldn’t put up a fight. Just ask for money like a prostitute.” 

Jessica stumbled into a chair, feeling the bile rise in the back of her throat. It was all she could do to keeping the phone in her trembling fingers, Max’s name on the screen growing blurry as her eyes swam with tears. 

_“All parents are garbage. Kids can’t choose their parents, y’know. They can’t ask for a different pair, no matter how bad they are.”_  

He’d only been a child, defiled by a man he’d no doubt trusted.  

No wonder Ash hated grown men.  

No wonder he’d stared at her son’s gift with unadulterated terror.   

That night, her sleep was steeped in nightmares. They were the horrific visions she thought had been left behind, when the fear of miscarriage no longer plagued her during pregnancy. 

In her dreams, she saw a nameless child – flaxen-haired, with a pert nose and tiny frame rounded by lingering traces of baby fat. This clumsy little boy ran with the full-bellied giggles of a child… which shifted into blood-curdling screams that no child should ever be able to make. The child cried as black tendrils crawled up his legs, crying out for his mother, for his father in vain. 

“Mama! Papa!” 

The names soon evaporated into thin air as the black tendrils shifted into hands, greedy and innumerable as they left prints in their wake. More hands, more screaming, before the boy’s entire body was dyed black – like so many drops of ink in water, bleeding into his core until he was like a beautiful, tragic wraith. 

Agony shifted to anger as the child’s screaming transformed into something colder, angrier. She heard his voice deepening even as the chubby boy stretched into the willowy build of one on the cusp of manhood. Instead of begging for help, the man snarled to be left alone… before finally forfeiting screaming at all. 

Within the depths of the wraith’s face, so much like a void…. a pale crescent of light sliced across his face. 

A shiver went up her spine when Jessica realized it was a smile. 

* * *

So many unanswered questions until It happened. _He_ happened. Even a year after the fact, Jessica didn’t like to call it a rape. She hedged around the word - clinical terms were far easier to pull from her throat. “Assault” felt less like extracting a parasite from her innards, made it easier to detach herself from phantom hands in her hair or her- 

_Keep it down, you stupid bitch - or do you_ want _your little boy to hear this?_  

She shuddered. Not for the first time, she was grateful she’d not only thrown away but burned that dress.  

Fragments of the puzzle fell together with terrifying clarity. 

Her nightmares felt almost prophetic, in a way - even as she’d had horrific visions of a child covered in hands, a year’s worth of scrubbing her skin raw still left her unable to erase the sensation of tobacco-stained fingers on her flesh. 

There was a familiarity in the tremble of Ash’s hands that made Jessica’s blood run cold. The way he hugged his arms around his torso, avoiding looking at anyone as though his humiliation were branded into his flesh… it was like looking into a mirror.  

Yet Ash had given her such a blase answer. She may as well have inquired if he’d stubbed his toe on his way up the stairs. 

_“I’d be dead long before now if it took me that long.”_  

As if it meant nothing. Yet his voice said something different - it was a blandness she’d heard in her own voice, when Max tried to understand the dichotomy of feeling like a walking corpse. Ash’s tone was one of avoidance; it was the man averting his gaze as he walked past a graveyard, pretending not to know precisely where their loved one’s coffin lay. A glance would be all it took to undo years’ worth of erecting walls around a tragedy.  

She sighed, taking another sip from the emerald liquid in her styrofoam cup. Jessica had long since put away her laptop, unable to concentrate as Ash’s words repeated themselves over and over in her head.  

With his peculiar sense of insight, the Japanese boy had quietly added a sachet of green tea to her own cup. Though it tasted rather earthy for her liking at first, she found that something about it was... soothing. She was reminded of the cherry blossoms she’d seen in Ibe’s photos from home - as she glanced at her drab grey settings, it was hard not to feel a small comfort in a taste that spoke of color and nature, of something beautiful.  

She took a deep breath from her cup - even the aroma was a welcome reprieve. The air in this part of the city always seemed to have the taint of decay.    

It was a welcome reprieve from the way she could still detect the scent of cigarettes as if its smell had seared itself into her nostrils. As Ash had walked past her, the smell of cigarettes had clung to him like a foul cologne. She knew that it wasn’t because of Ash’s own habits. She’d seen the red welts on his skin, courtesy of a cruel inclination to use human skin as an ashtray.  

That man with the sunglasses… he hadn’t even had the courtesy to put out his cigarette. She remembered a delirious moment of gratitude as the ashes fell on her skin. Brief as they were, the burning sensation was enough to let her forget the pain in other places.  

A thought occurred to her, nonsensical in its desperation to make sense of the illogical: why do rapists always have to smoke? 

Pall Malls? Marlboros? What brand was best suited to one’s vices after they finished pillaging another human being’s body and soul? Perhaps one brand had more carcinogens than the other. She could only hope - it seemed like poetic justice, one of Those Men gasping for breath as he lay dying in a perfect parallel of the act that had murdered a part of her so long ago. She reveled in the idea of it - Death gripping his throat and cutting off his air, just as impassive, just as callous as he had been towards a single mother in her Los Angeles bungalow.   

A panicked giggle bubbled out of her like a lanced boil. Yet she found herself unable to stop laughing even as the dread started to settle in as phantom hands pulled at her hair, her dress. Her heart pounded desperately in her chest, terror flooding her even as she tried to reassure herself  _it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re fine, it’s just a memory._ Her ears rang as her vision narrowed to a monochromatic pinprick, and all the while, she heard a wheezing, unsettled kind of giggling that she was shocked to realize was her own voice - did she truly laugh like that? Why was she still laughing,  _why the fuck can’t I stop, this isn't even funny, why-_  

Jessica felt a gentle hand on her shoulder - a blessed anchor to the present as wave after wave of horrific recollections threatened to swallow her whole. Without thinking, she clutched it like a lifeline. If she bruised the hand beneath her own, they didn’t complain.  

“Keep breathing, alright? Slow, deep breaths. No, slower, okay? Don’t rush it. There you go - fill up your lungs. That’s it, just like that.” 

Breathe in, breathe out. 

Breathe in. 

Breathe out.  

Breathe. 

The waves receded, color slowing bleeding back into her vision. Perhaps it was the lack of oxygen, but the phrase “ _like_ _so many dead flowers shaking the snow from their petals_ ” drifted across her mind. Another laugh burst out of her, devoid of any mirth - where did that even come from? A book read in the past? A news article? Why -  

“Still with me, Jess?”  

_Ash?_  

Looking up, she saw an all-too-familiar pair of jade eyes fixed on her - it was _his_ hands that were caught in an iron-tight grip within her own. He looked at her not with pity, not with condescension, but rather concern that spoke of an intimate understanding of what must have been going through her head. She couldn't quite specify the difference - while Max had seen glimpses of these episodes, the fact that Ash had known precisely what to do, what to say, suggested far more personal knowledge of what she needed.  

He’d just endured it,  all over _again_ , and yet… 

“Shouldn’t this be the other way around?” she murmured with a hiccup, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “Foxx, he…”  

Ash blinked a few times before casting his gaze at the wall behind Jessica’s shoulder. Absentmindedly, it seemed, his hands drifted to the rope burns on his neck.  

“Did you… need to talk about it?” she ventured. “I-I mean, I don’t want you to have to relive it, of course, but-” 

“Nobody’s ever asked.”  

_Nobody’s ever asked him about it? What…?_  

Ash sat down gingerly on the box next to her, wincing slightly as he did so. She noticed that Ash’s own cup of steaming water was also tinted green, though it still had a bag resting on the bottom.  

“What do you mean, nobody’s asked you?” She couldn’t understand that. Max had asked her, time and time again, to come to him if she needed anything - even after the kneejerk instinct to slap him for letting it happen. ( _Of_ _course it’s not his fault, how could he have possibly have known?)_ Even Michael had sessions with his school counselor, simply due to the trauma of having strange men burst into his home and take his mommy away.  

The blonde rolled his shoulders languidly - a play at casualness to set off the heaviness of the conversation. The waver in his voice said otherwise. 

“People tend to treat me with kiddie gloves. ‘Oh, how awful’. But usually with the understanding that I don’t gross ‘em out by ever mentioning it again. ”  

“What he did to you, what those men did…. that’s not a reflection on you, Ash. You’re not disgusting, least of all for talking about it. That’s healthy. It’s what therapy is for.”  

Ash let out an unhinged giggle as if she’d said something truly hilarious. Jessica recognized it as the precursor to hysteria. Her fingers tightening ever so slightly around her cup.  

“ _Therapy_? I can just imagine the poor woman, trying to keep a straight face as she gets to learn how a ten-year-old learns to stop having a gag reflex. Y’know what’s funny? You were supposed to be an expert at blowjobs, yet you can’t let on that you learned it from someone else.”  

She heard the challenge in his voice, daring her to change the subject, to hear the horror in her voice. It was a scream forcibly swallowed down again and again - desperate for someone to just fucking _listen_ to him.  

It was like listening to Michael sobbing in her arms. Like any child, he often felt terror and revulsion at the complexity of his emotions. She heard the trepidation, the fear, waiting for the moment when even a mother’s love was scared away.  

She swallowed against the nausea in her throat.  

_Don’t look away from it. Let him talk._  

“That makes no sense. There’s no way you can be good at something if you’ve never done it.”  

Another laugh, this time less deranged. 

“It’s all about maintaining an illusion. They like to fuck little boys yet know that it’s disgusting. But if they pretend we’re just a bunch of pint-sized sluts, born for no other reason than to suck their cocks? It’s much easier to pretend we wanted it. Hard to argue when they could make you react the way they wanted.”  

_Look how wet you are - you’re enjoying this, aren’t you, you fucking slut?_  

Jessica knew that feeling all too well - she has grappled with the idea that she might have been at fault. That she’d somehow _wanted_ it, that- 

“That… man, he said the same. That I must have wanted it. But that’s not true. Your body will react physically, even if everything in you hates it. It’s a way for them to mess with your head, to make you feel like you somehow deserved it.”  

Ash swirled his cup, eyes following the lazy dregs at the bottom as he gnawed at his lips in thought.  

“Is that a common thing? The whole, uh….” 

“ _[Arousal non-concordance](https://youtu.be/L-q-tSHo9Ho?t=235) _is what my therapist called it. Your body’s own response doesn’t match what you want. In the case of r-r-” 

“You don’t have to force yourself.” 

“It’s only fair, Ash. In the cases of r-rape, that’s when you react as though you do enjoy it. Like if you’re being assaulted, but still have an orgasm. Every single part of you screams no…. but still, your body is being touched in a way that makes it respond accordingly.”   

“So… like, a kid popping a boner?”  

She couldn’t help grimacing at the mental image; she’d learned enough of his past to read between the lines. 

“Still not your fault. Ash… I wish this wasn’t something we understood about one another, but here we are. I get why you blame yourself - better than anyone else, I think. But that’s why I’m going to tell you, however long it takes, that  _you aren’t to blame_.”  

“Then how could my father-” 

His voice, usually so calm and sure, faltered over the word. She wondered if this was a glimpse of that little boy from a decade earlier.     

“I think… he felt powerless,” Jessica answered, trying to make sense of what could compel a parent to do what Ash’s father had. “I can’t imagine what I would do if Michael had told me that, but I sure as shit wouldn’t be telling him to just go along with it. I’d sooner go to jail than give the man a second chance.”  

“I can believe it. Not that I’d know, but mothers sound like they’re scary if you piss ‘em off.”  

“Damn straight. Don’t tangle with a mama bear.”  

Ash’s hand drifted over his eyes, though on his lips lingered the barest shadow of a smile.  

“Y’know… I wonder sometimes how things would have been different if I’d been born to someone else,” Ash mused. “That… I dunno. God, this’ll sound so fucking stupid-” 

“You’re not stupid, Ash. Far from it.”  

Ash glanced at Jessica from between his fingers, as though he needed the physical and emotional shield between them. It was so reminiscent of Michael, revealing something he felt embarrassing… it made her want to cry.  

“There’s times when I forget it’s all an act. Calling him ‘Dad’, letting him get all huggy ‘n shit. It’s… a good thing. It’s safe. Do you have _any_ idea how nice an actual hug feels? Not a man trying to lure a kid onto his lap, or into his bed, but a proper hug without any strings attached.”  

_He tries so hard to act embarrassed when I give him a hug - as if he’s not allowed the barest human contact. You can almost hear him arguing with himself. He’d push me away if he wanted to - it’s that he’s afraid to reciprocate. Even with Eiji, he won’t allow himself to relax._  

“It’s easy to forget that he’s acting, too - he’s _not_ my dad. He doesn’t think of me as any son of his - god, who’d even want to? He’s not proud of this, that, or the other. And every time, I feel stupid for letting myself get carried away by it.”  

_Sometimes I forget Ash isn’t my kid, as much as I wish he were. He’s just like a Tootsie Pop - he’s got this hard exterior, but he’s actually soft and sweet beneath it all._  

“Max would disagree, y’know,” Jessica replied.  

Ash looked up from his hands, face a portrait of confusion. 

She showed Ash a picture on her phone. It was a selfie taken in Central Park, the trees' leaves dyed in autumnal hues. Max had an unsure smile on his face, eyes looking a few centimeters below the actual camera lens as he flashed a peace sign at the camera. Ash, as expected, was a natural - with a toothy grin and a peace sign as well, it was like a model posing with his bemused father.  

In the text below it, Max had simply written:  _Apparently, it’s a thing they do in Japan. Eiji must have taught it to him._  

“Max is many things,” she added, “but he’s never been a good actor.”  

“Oh,” was all Ash said. His smile was like a sliver of sunlight breaking through cumulonimbus, eyes watery as pieces of his ironclad self-control slipped. For once, he didn’t look like a beautiful metaphor or the divine - simply the eighteen-year-old that he was.  

“And for what it’s worth, Michael keeps asking about you. Wondering where his ‘big brother’ went off to. When are you gonna pay him a visit, hmm?”  

“Big brother…?” Ash echoed.  

“You’re supposed to set a good example, yet you can’t even be bothered to say hello?”  

“Oh jeez, are you gonna nag me, too?”  

She weighed the levity in his tone, risked an invitation by means of a taunt. Ash’s pride wouldn't tolerate anything more overt.  

“Mothers are scary when you piss ‘em off, y’know. Best you listen when we tell you to do something.”  

His lips parted with shock, watching her expression carefully as though anticipating the second part to her statement. She merely offered him a conspiratory smile, to which he scratched at his cheek self-consciously.  

“Alright, alright… Ma. I swear you’re just as bad as Pops.”  

“If we don’t embarrass you, are we really your parents?”  

“Guess not.”  

She wished that she could take a photograph, to immortalize this side of Ash. How often did anyone get to witness him beyond the tough exterior?  

“Ash! Where are you?” a teen boy’s called from the floor, and Jessica quietly cursed to herself as she saw the way Ash’s eyes hardened once more. It was remarkable to witness the way he slid that mask on, leaving not so much as a seam to suggest its artifice. It was a perfect facade - she wondered how often he had the chance to remove it.  

She glanced back down at the selfie Max had sent her.  

_Well, at least with us._


End file.
